


Scratched souls can be a drag

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post Hell, Short term memory loss, Trauma, sam speaking enochian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:57:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2442905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is pulled out of hell with his soul intact and ends up on Dean and Lisa's doorstep. after spending so long in the cage, he has forgotten how to speak most English, but (to his surprise) is fluent in Enochian. Also, some post cage trauma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for fun and practice, not accuracy. So if I got anything wrong or left anything out, it is what it is

Dean had been laying in bed when it happened. His eyes travelled up the midnight blue ceiling, wisps of silvery light casting over it as they escaped the window's shades. His back ached from laying on it too long, but Lisa was curled against his chest huffing out small breaths that indicated she was resting peacefully. Her back extended and fell with each automatic inhale. Thin, tan hands were curled together, almost as if in prayer, and pressing against her cheek. Flipping onto Dean's side didn't feel worth disturbing her, after all it wasn't as if he slept much anyways. He sighed deeply and lifted his arm that was draped over her shoulder and rubbed her back in soothing motions. Lisa made a small whimpering noise and scooted closer to him, her eyes still hidden by droopy lids. Dean couldn't help but to allow himself a tired, almost content, smile. He imagined the moon rays sliding, crawling, dripping into each other until they formed a perfect, bright devil's trap on the ceiling. Maybe he would paint one there tomorrow. He mentally snorted at the idea of Lisa's reaction to that. She would probably say he had enough of them around the house. Maybe tomorrow would be the day he would convince her to get an anti-possession tattoo. Yeah, probably not. Maybe he would take the impala for a spin around the block. Also not gonna happen. Not when it held so many memories of.....well, everything. That car was his home that he could never return to, his baby, his forbidden fruit. The idea of sliding behind the slick wheel was appealing, but he knew the second his ass touched the seat he would either start the engine and never look back or he would break, possibly both.

His head swam with impossible maybes and ideas as he began drifting to sleep. The fog in his mind dispersed and his eyes popped open unnaturally wide at the sound of heavy, unbalanced footsteps on the porch. Dean's muscles tensed and his ears strained to rediscover the noise. Another set of thumps had him jumping out of bed and reaching for his gun in the night stand within seconds. "Wha's'it?" Lisa slurred with a cracked voice. "Stay here." Dean commanded softly as he made his way out of the room. He could hear the distant sound of Lisa sitting up in bed, but not leaving it. He breathed a sigh of relief. Dean pointed the gun to the floor and extended it lower. He softly padded down the stairs in his plain boxers, white socks, and a white t-shirt. His brow furrowed and his lips pressed together. Alright, time to find out who the hell had dared to wake him up with this crap. He crept away from the last stair and stopped a foot away from the front door. He laid his hand on the icy handle and slowly turned it. He counted to five and swung the door open with the perfect amount of force to make it slam against the wall. His face cleared of all emotion and his jaw dropped. The gun fell to the hardwood ground with a crack, but he payed it no attention. Dean gaped incredulously at the figure slumped on the floor of the porch. He wore mud slicked, torn-at-the-knee blue jeans and a red and black plaid shirt, or at least the sliced up, bloody remnants of it. His hair was damp at the ends and laced with dirt. His face was smeared with dried blood. 

Dean could feel his hands shaking and his eyes getting continuously wider, but all that mattered was the bloody, dirt covered man turning his head up to look at Dean. His frantic, horror glazed eyes scanned Dean up and down. They flicked to the sides every few seconds in paranoia. "Sammy" Dean spoke the word with every ounce of sincerity, love, regret, and longing he had drunk away in the past months. Sam was back. Holy hell, SAM was back. Dean's heart broke and reformed and his thoughts spun out of control in a confused vortex of jubilation and confusion. Sam's mouth twitched and slightly lifted in a partial grin. His whole body shook and jolted with every wave of tremors. His fingers were curling and uncurling and shaking at the same time to his sides. Dean knelt down to his knees and took in the sight of his baby brother (who was in desperate need of a shower). "Sammy?" Dean repeated with more worry. "D-Dean" Sam forced through clenched teeth. His breath hitched as his stomach convulsed. His lips were quivering. He whipped his head to the sides every other second. Sam swallowed and spoke in a heap of spat words. "Don' 'ave much time. 'S not gonna l-last long" okay, what the hell? What wouldn't last long? Dean naturally slipped back into big brother mode. "What're you talkin' about?" He asked quietly. Sam looked away then back at Dean.

His eyes flicked all around him, his breathing becoming progressively faster paced. "I-I c-can't-ca-can't" he stuttered helplessly. He choked on ragged breaths that tore violently through his chest. Was this a panic attack? Dean's hands reached up and gripped Sam's shoulders on their own account. Dean pulled Sam's stiff form against him. Dean held him in an awkward embrace that had Sam's chin resting against his shoulder. He shushed him and hummed the first Metallica song that popped into his head. He swayed slightly back and forth, dragging Sam along with him. Sam's breaths became slower and more controlled, his heart rate dropping exponentially. Dean could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he didn't care. His wobbly smile didn't falter. Sam's body slowly went limp as the man appeared to begin losing consciousness.

\------------

Everything was dulling. Sounds lost their sharpness and became muffled and quiet. Sam's vision was blurring periodically as the color of the world drained and faded. His body lost feeling as it went numb. He could sense himself slipping and he didn't know what state of mind he would be in when he lost it. On the bright side, he had found Dean. "Lisa! Lisa, please get down here!" Dean yelled frantically through the confusion littering Sam's thoughts. Lisa? Oh, yes, Lisa. Sam struggled to remember what she looked like. Footsteps were pounding down the stairs, two sets? What was the kid's name? Ben? What did Lisa look like? A picture formed in his mind of thin, shiny, dark hair, dark eyes, and a caring smile. That seemed right. The mental image was suddenly transformed into a horrific, demonic version of Lisa with spiraling horns, needles for teeth, rotting skin, and black eyes. Sam was slapped with a wave of terror. He squirmed and pulled away from a body. Demon, Lisa was a demon! Wait that wasn't right, Lisa wasn't a demon. He was drug back to full consciousness, his senses returning sharp from adrenaline. Not real, not real, it's not real, he mentally repeated. The muscles in his throat were raw and the air was filled with desperate, raspy screaming. He kept his eyes squeezed shut. "Sammy! Sammy, it's okay, calm down!" Dean was yelling over his own terrified screams. Someone was touching him, pulling at him. The sensation of someone's skin touching him felt warm like his own hot blood pouring over him. "Help!" He attempted to yell, but it came out as a completely wrong sound. His hands flew to his throat and he desperately groped at it. They scrabbled, searching for some fault or slit or another set of hands trying to choke the life out of him. "I can't-please pl-please help, I don't-I can't-!" He screeched helplessly, but, again, the words left his mouth wrong. 

All of a sudden nothing made sense. What the hell, hadn't he been calm just a minute ago? Wait, where the hell was he? Sam slowly pried his eyes open. Dean was worriedly scanning his face, his hands still clamped to Sam's tensed shoulders. Lisa was just down the staircase wearing a short, silky nightgown and hiding Ben behind her. Her face was one of confusion and fear. What? When had he gotten to Lisa's house? Sam could feel his face pinching in curiosity. "How did I get here?" He asked with a new calmness. His lips didn't move in the right way, the words that came out sounded distinctly not English. Dean's eyebrows drew together, his lips pressing together in worry. There were dark rings shadowing his green eyes. "What is he saying?" Lisa addressed Dean in a cracking, shocked voice. Sam turned his eyes back to Dean. Dean shook his head. "I don't know" he responded solemnly. "Dean" Sam spoke. At least this was said correctly. "Dean" he said again hoping Dean would somehow sense that he was desperately struggling to not freak the hell out again. Why weren't the words being said right? Dean nervously licked his lips. "Can you try to stand, Sammy?" He asked softly. Sam nodded shakily and wiped his nose with his arm. Dean stood and reached his hand out to Sam. He dug his fingers into Dean's flesh and instantly regretted how the skin to skin contact brought with it too many memories of the gentle stroking of fingertips before being torn into. Sam Rose and jerked away from Dean. He tripped clumsily and took a second steady himself. Sam turned back to Dean to see that his hands were held up in a gesture of surrender. "It's okay...nobodies' gonna hurt ya" he soothed. Sam simply nodded again because he couldn't explain that he KNEW nobody was gonna hurt him, but the feeling of skin was unbearable. Dean put on a show of big, understanding eyes burning holes into Sam's head and held a steady hand out to him. Sam eyed it for a moment with trepidation. His face contorted to an expression of helplessness and misery. Seeming to catch on, Dean nodded minutely and lowered his arm.

A slow, cautious smile spread across his face. "It's good to see ya, man" he uttered and emanated sincerity. Sam allowed himself a shaky grin as a response. "I missed you" Sam mumbled sadly. As expected, he spoke in that other language again. Dean's peaceful expression fell at the lack of understanding. "What language is that?" A quiet, youthful voice spoke from inside the house. Sam looked around Dean to see Ben staring questioningly at him with a cocked head and a curious, raised eyebrow. Lisa shot fearful eyes at Dean and not-very-subtly slid in front of Ben. Dean glanced apologetically back at Sam. He couldn't really blame Lisa for being afraid of him, or at least afraid for her son's safety with him around. A strange man covered in blood and dirt shows up, can't speak English (or any identifiable language), and nearly has a heart attack because skin touches him. Sam shrugged and lifted his eyebrows at Dean as if to say "I get it. I look crazy". Dean smirked and turned back to Lisa. "It's okay" he started while inching his way towards her. "Remember my brother, Sam?" He asked. Lisa's eyes widened. "You said Sam was dead." She stated logically. "Well....I-he-he was...but he's not now." Dean stuttered confusedly. Lisa's face strained. "And you're not....surprised?" She questioned incredulously.

Dean lifted his hands in an almost apologetic shrug. "I'm more curious than anything" he informed her. Lisa crossed her arms calmly. "About?" She asked. "How the hell he got out" Dean answered, turning back to Sam. "Out of where?" "Hell" Dean replied without looking at her. Lisa snorted. "That's a little pessimistic" she muttered. "No, I really was in hell" Sam chimed in. The three of them glanced at him confusedly. He sighed irritatedly and bit his lip. Dean gave him a look of sympathy at his attempt at communication. He turned back to Lisa. "He's really okay. I promise" Dean assured her. Lisa stared at Sam and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. After a few seconds, she nodded reluctantly. Dean whipped his head back to Sam. "Come on, man. You need a shower." He teased with a smirk tugging at his lips. Sam grimaced and glared with mock anger at Dean before he entered the house.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive kinda run out of ideas with this one and I already have a few other things I wanna write in mind so I dunno if I'll continue with it....so yeah this is possibly the last chapter

Sam found that the hot, steamy shower calmed his nerves. He soaked in the blistering water for what felt like hours, just staring at his skin most of the time. He poked and prodded it, unable to believe that he was somehow out of the cage. He controlled his breathing and forced himself to ignore the compulsive urge to check his surroundings constantly. He breathed in the steam and let his face relax. Finally he stopped the water's surge and reveled in the fact that he was not afraid, that he was at peace. All of that ended when he opened the shower curtain and was struck with a wave of ice-like air.

\----------------------

Dean had been anxiously pacing around the kitchen, waiting for Sam to finish his shower. "So...do you have any idea what language he's speaking? Or if he's just babbling nonsense?" Lisa asked curiously. Dean could tell that she was ignoring all of the craziness and not asking about Sam being dead for him. Words couldn't describe how grateful he was for that. He shrugged with tense, worried shoulders. "I have a good idea of what language it is, but I think I need a second opinion." Lisa's eyebrows drew together. "Well what is it?" She asked. Dean hesitated a moment and froze where he was standing. "Enochian. It's the language of the angels." Lisa's eyes doubled in size and she intertwined her fingers on the dining table she sat at. "And do you have any idea why your brother is speaking the...language of the angels?" Her voice rose in pitch. Dean sat down in the chair across from her and ran his hand through his hair. "Short version? Sam spent at least a couple decades being roommates with the devil and his brother. I'm guessing after a while Of hearing them chatter away, he picked up Enochian and lost English." Lisa stared at him. "Okay." She said simply. 

For a few minutes they sat in silence until a terrified, almost animalistic scream pounded in their ears. The sound was awful and raspy and like shattering glass. Both Dean and Lisa jolted and jumped up from their chairs to race upstairs. Dean's feet barely hit the floor as he flew to the bathroom in panic. When he reached the door he banged his fists desperately on it. "Sam, what's wrong!? Sam!" Dean yelled shrilly. The screaming continued, but this time with a string of (possibly Enochian) words following behind it. Dean whispered "son of a bitch" and took a deep breath. He stepped back and kicked the door with all of his strength until it splintered and slammed open. There were a few wisps of smoke seeping out from behind the shower curtain, but the fan had vented out most of the heat. Dean got to his knees and ripped open the curtain. Sam was curled into himself in the tub. He was laying on his side and gripping his knees. The man was shivering violently and sobbing in between horrified screams. He repeated the same words over and over. Dean turned at the feeling of something nudging his arm. Lisa was pale faced and handing him a large blanket. Dean took it thankfully and carefully draped it over Sam's body. "Sammy" Dean whispered as his voice cracked. Sam slowly made eye contact with him. "Sam, come on. Please, man, let's get you out of here." He pleaded. Sam's bulging eyes slid away from Dean and swiveled all around the room. 

Sam had thankfully stopped screaming, but continued to whimper and mumble. Dean was now leaning against the bathtub lazily and stroking Sam's damp hair. Convinced that he needed help, Dean took out his phone and scrolled through the short list of contacts. Sam mumbled something a bit louder in a small voice. "I know, Sammy. I'm gonna get us some help, man. We'll figure this out." Dean soothed despite the dread unraveling in his thoughts. He lifted the phone to his ear and listened to it ring a few times. "H'llo?" A gruff voice answered. "Bobby. It's Dean." He replied softly. There was a crinkling sound and a pause. "It's good to hear from you, boy" Dean could hear the smile in his voice, but he couldn't bring himself to imitate it. "I...gotta tell ya somethin'." He said cautiously. Dean cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "It's Sam. He's back" a moment of silence passed. "You're kidding" Bobby stated disbelievingly with a dangerous tone that betrayed hope. "Nope. Got him right here next to me." Dean patted the bath tub gently, knowing that Sam was still under a blanket in there terrified and muttering strange words. "Well what're you waiting for? let me talk to him" Bobby demanded excitedly. "He came back different, Bobby......he can't speak Enlgish for one" Dean informed him. "That's actually why I called. I was wondering if you had any books on Enochian"   
"Gimme a second" Bobby said. After about a minute Bobby returned to the phone. "I have a book on how to speak the language" Dean released a relieved sigh. "Good. Can you translate something for me?" Dean nearly pleaded. "Will you tell me at some point exactly what the hell is goin' on here if I do?" Bobby questioned. "Cross my heart. Alright, listen to this" Dean instructed.

He reached into the tub and put the phone near Sam's mouth and watched as the incoherent words streamed into it. Dean then put the phone back to his ear. "You get all that?" He asked. "Was-was that-?" Bobby fumbled over the words. "Yeah. Yeah, it was." Dean responded. "Hold on" Bobby said. Dean heard him flip through several pages. "Oh hell." "What is it?" Dean prodded, his heart doing anxious backflips. "From the words I caught and a rough translation, it was something along the lines of "he burnt cold, why do I still burn cold with him?"" Dean took a moment to process the information. "Could you possibly send me that book?" Dean requested. "Sure thing. I know you'll take good care of that boy, Dean" this time Dean allowed himself an empty grin. "Thanks, Bobby." With that he disconnected the call and leaned over the bathtub. He shook Sam softly and gripped his arm. "C'mon, man, I need a little help here." Dean said. Sam straightened up wobbly and finally stepped out of the tub. He said something and turned to Dean. "That book can't get here soon enough." Dean complained. "I'm gonna set you up a heater in the guest room. Would you like that?" He asked. Sam nodded viciously and didn't bother wiping the tears away. Dean led him to the guest room.


End file.
